Tattoo || m.c.

36

Mars woke up in her bed but it was completely white. She was confused. Her band posters and random Tumblr posts she printed out on her walls disappeared. In fact, everything in her room was gone except for the door, her closet, and bed.

"Where am I?" she whispered looking around the room.

That's when she noticed her window was gone. It was there that it felt like her lungs were being stripped of air; Mars gasping and choking for oxygen. She dropped to her knees and clawed at her throat, desperate to get something in her lungs.

The door handle turned and a dark shadow trailed in her room. Piercing its stare at Mars, it opened its mouth.

"Stop trying, you don't deserve it. You are a disgrace and a failure to Earth. You don't deserve to live at all," the rough, feminine voice chuckled dryly, "You don't deserve to be killed by another person, only worthless Mars can truly get rid of herself."

Mars stared at the figure, trying to yell outside of the door for help. She was dying. Her life was truly ending and it was going to go down like this.

"Michael or mother isn't here to help you. This is your problem, little Mars just keeps bothering them with burdens and more burdens. They will leave eventually, sick of you and all of your baggage. Just like your father and just like any friend you have ever had. Especially, once they see how disgustingly fat you are." The voice went on and on telling her the truth.

All Mars could hold on to as she was slowly releasing every bit of air she had, with tears in her eyes and down her cheeks and neck were Michael's words:

you're perfect the way you are.